


Just Stay

by weenies



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language typical for Shameless, M/M, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weenies/pseuds/weenies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey was back to merely surviving and he'd be lying if he didn’t admit that it was a hell of a lot harder to do so after he had lost Ian than it was before Ian was ever part of his life. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all was full of shit and obviously not the gay son of Terry Milkovich.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic back in september but have since had time to reflect on the story I'd like to tell. It will revolve around Mickey dealing with what happened in season 3 as well as Ian coping with the onset of his bipolar disorder. (chapter 2 and 3 have yet to be edited)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: emetophobia tw (brief description), panic attacks (described in vague language), violence, homophobic slurs/language, alcohol consumption, and just all around poor coping mechanisms

Being without Ian was hell.  Mickey was moving through it in search of some kind of reprieve but he’d been living in the Milkovich household long enough to know not to hope for anything.  His ability to do such a thing had been beaten out of him years ago.  Ian had begun to change that, taught him how to hope again, and look where that fucking got him. 

Mickey was back to merely surviving and he'd be lying if he didn’t admit that it was a hell of a lot harder to do so after he had lost Ian than it was before Ian was ever part of his life. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all was full of shit and obviously not the gay son of Terry Milkovich. 

He spent most of his time drunk off his ass in the bathrooms of shitty bars, hooking up with anyone halfway decent-looking and willing to fuck. He had tried his luck with a woman once but visions of the last time he had been with one left him curled up on the floor, skin cold and shaking, the drinks he had swallowed down just minutes before on the floor below him as he tried frantically to regain control of his breathing. So he didn’t do that again.

He’d fuck guys if the opportunity presented itself, but it was nearly impossible unless he ventured farther out of his neighborhood. He hardly ever did so mostly he just drank.

On the rare chance that he could get a dick in his ass, he spent the entire time willing himself to forget the way Ian would hold on as he pounded into him.  The way his hands gripped a little too hard at times only to loosen in soothing circles around his hips.  He tried to forget but the hook-ups only served to remind him of everything his one-night-stands weren’t. Of the strong but caring hands that belonged to the man he couldn't make stay. 

When he made his way home and was finally sober all that was left was a raging headache, an upset stomach, and a Russian prostitute occupying the other half of his bed.

Every night ended the same and he had no intentions of breaking the cycle. If if he wanted to, he didn't know how. He waved down the bartender and ordered another beer once she made her way over to him. 

 As he swallowed down the beer, Mickey thought about the cool July evenings when he would tease Ian for his shit taste in booze. _Us Milkoviches may be the neighborhood fuck-ups but fuck man even we have standards._ They spent that summer in a haze of sex and lighthearted jokes.  It wasn’t easy—Ian wanted more and Mickey wasn’t at all sure he could give it—but Ian was his best friend and Mickey honestly couldn’t remember a time when he had felt that happy.

On bad days when Terry stormed out of the house with bruised knuckles, Mickey would invite Ian over.  There was residual pain and horror in every chipped tile and punctured wall. It could be found in every empty bottle of booze and the bags of white powder that sat on the kitchen table. It hung to the cigarette smoke that filtered out his dad’s mouth and darkened the already yellow-stained walls. It would never be gone, but Mickey thought the house always looked a little bit brighter when Ian was around.

He sat on the stool in the dimly lit bar and thought about what it was like to be with Ian. The way his touch made him feel wanted and worthy for the first time in his life.  Up until then he had never known a man’s hands to be so gentle.  

He thought about what it was like to watch Ian walk out of his room, out of his life. The frustration of not being able to make Ian understand that he gave way more than half a shit about him. He tried in the only way he knew how but it wasn’t good enough—he wasn’t good enough. 

And now all he had was a stool in a crowded bar, an increasingly large tab, and his own misery to keep him company. He chugged the rest of his beer and drank until he could hardly stand up straight.

*

Mickey had gone out drinking again, this time taking a bottle of booze and making his way to a nearby park. He stayed there for a few hours until his ass hurt from sitting down for so long and he eventually made out toward home.

It was still light out, but the sun had started to set as he continued down toward the underbelly of the El railway. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand with just enough to last him the remainder of his walk home and a cigarette in the other. 

He’d spent the past couple of months drinking enough booze to rival the likes of Frank Gallagher.  Even Mandy had noticed and had started to worry.  She’d tried to mask her concern by accusing him of being a deadbeat who was wasting all their alcohol but even she couldn’t conceal the furrowed brows and quick glances she sent his way when she thought he wasn’t looking.

As he was passing underneath the El Mickey noticed three teenagers beating the shit out of some kid.  Mickey had been itching to pick a fight for days and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Mickey walked closer, finally catching a glimpse of the kids face while the attackers’ backs were still to him and vaguely remembered seeing him around the neighborhood. He was a scrawny kid, didn’t stand a chance against one of these guys, let alone three of them.

“You fucking faggot!” one of the boys yelled.

Mickey froze, suddenly being transported back to fourteen.

_Mickey followed his dad down the street. They had just got done with that week’s collections and already had to deal with a guy who was two weeks late on his payment.  Terry had even let his youngest son assist in the poor fucker’s punishment, not that Mickey was particularly excited._

_To say that Terry was on edge was an understatement.  His dad was already fuming about this morning’s beat-down when they turned onto an alley and caught the ending of what looked like a farewell kiss—between two men. Mickey watched as one of the men left and walked back onto the street.  He felt like he was going to be sick but was frozen in place. He started to shift his weight back and forth and sent a worried glance at his father._

_“Well would you look at that” Terry grit out as he strode over toward the stranger still standing in the middle of the alley._

_His father grabbed the man and punched him square in the jaw the moment he turned his head to see who had just spoken._

_“You fucking faggot!” he screamed as he brought his fist back and connected it with the man’s nose._

_Mickey looked away, not trusting himself to hold the contents of his stomach down much longer. He could hear the man’s pleads echoing off of the barred-in windows on the nearby buildings.  He wondered if anyone would come help the man and felt ashamed because he knew that he couldn’t._

_Before his dad could suggest he join in, he started down the alleyway following the path the other man took moments before._

_“I’ll keep watch” he called out over his shoulder, secretly praying his dad wouldn’t command he come back and finish the job.  He closed his eyes and tried to block out the guy’s now inaudible whimpers. He tried not to think about those fists colliding with his face should his dad ever find out his own son was gay._

He shook his head, willing his thoughts to silence and his hands to stop shaking.  He hadn’t known at the time that his fear would become reality and that his dad was capable of much worse than what he did to that man in the alley. 

The three boys continued their assault on the kid as Mickey silently composed himself.  With every punch and kick being dished out by them, he felt the ache of his dad’s fist hitting his face—the pain of cold metal hitting flesh right before he blacked out. 

Unsure of how or if he should step in, Mickey stood frozen for a moment watching. You don’t grow up in his neighborhood without building up a tolerance for violence that was as high as an alcoholic’s tolerance for alcohol. It was just a part of the crappy lifestyle no one chose and not many escaped.

Mickey had seen countless people being mugged on the street and never once had he been affected by it. Sure, he’d gotten involved from time to time. But that was to scratch an itch, let off some steam. This felt different and Mickey felt a flush of anger wash over him like a tidal wave. 

The boys finally took notice of him and hesitated as they tried to gage what Mickey’s reaction would be.  “Hey Milkovich, you wanna join in?”

As soon as the words left the boy’s mouth, Mickey realized that they looked familiar.  The short fuck owed Iggy money for some coke he’d sold him three days before.  He was drunk, angry, and really wanted to hit someone. Having an actual reason to do so was simply a welcome surprise.

“Hey Nick, you got the money you owe my brother?”  He said as he dropped his cigarette and set down his bottle of whiskey. 

The two others began to back away when they saw Mickey’s shoulders roll back. Cracking his knuckles, he watched as they retreated quickly.  Before they could completely run off, Mickey stepped up and grabbed Nick, punching him right in the nose.

He then punched him in his gut, refocused his attention back onto the stubby kids face, and continued to swing. 

“You think you’re so fucking tough, don’t you”, Mickey grunted out as he beat the kid’s face. 

“You got a week to get me the money you owe me or I won’t stop at your nose” Mickey spat out throwing Nick onto the asphalt and laughing to himself bitterly when he scampered off to catch up with the other two boys who had already took off down the street. _Not so tough anymore_

Mickey turned his attention then to the bloodied boy lying on the ground. With one swift and forceful motion, he had the kid standing, although barely, on his feet.  Mickey brushed off some of the dirt on his shirt, let go of him, and started to leave.

“Wait, are you letting—“, he began but shut up quickly when Mickey turned to glare at him.

He let out a quiet “thanks” instead.  Mickey started to open his mouth, ready to spew some crap about how he just wanted the money and a thanks wasn’t needed, but he quickly closed it. He didn’t think that he’d sound very convincing.  So he nodded quickly, picked up his bottle of alcohol, and headed home

When he reached his front porch, he paused to take a deep breath. He felt his hands twitch toward the cigarettes in his pocket but decided to just suck it up and go inside. His goal was to avoid everyone at all cost.

He ignored the screaming baby in the corner of the living room and his wife’s scornful remark about her “lazy fucking husband” and retreated to his room.  His hopes of getting some peace were quickly shattered when Mandy opened his door seconds after he sat down onto his bed.

“You’re bleeding” she stated, holding up a damp tattered rag with stains containing the remnants of what looked like blood. In the Milkovich household, it could have belonged to anyone.

“Not mine” he responded, gesturing to his bloodied shirt as he reclined back onto his pillow.

She sat down on the end of his bed and wrapped the warm towel around her fidgeting hands like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. The two blue-eyed Milkoviches were quiet for some time, neither one willing to break the silence.

Ever since Ian had left, there was a tension that was almost palpable between the two of them. He knew she blamed him for her losing her best friend. Hell, he blamed himself most of the time, when he wasn’t angry at Ian for leaving him when he needed him the most.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She finally asked.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Of all the things he wanted to be doing—namely getting high or sleeping—having the “it’s okay to be gay” conversation was definitely not one of them.

“I mean I get that you couldn’t tell dad or anything, but you could have told me that you and Ian were fucking”

Mickey had known Mandy wouldn’t care. Ian had told Mickey a while back that she knew about Ian’s sexuality but Mickey still couldn’t bring himself to confide in his sister.  Telling Mandy about him and Ian meant admitting out loud that Ian wasn’t just a casual fuck, that their arrangement meant more than just getting off when it was convenient. And the more people that knew, the greater the risk that his dad would find out.

“We weren’t”

“Cut the crap, Mickey” Mandy snapped as she stood up, turning to face her brother. Mickey knew it was pointless to continue to deny that Ian was more to him than his younger sister’s redheaded friend and yet there he was. “Ian deserved so much—“

“Ya know, why don’t you tell me about all the dudes you’ve fucked.”

“What?” She replied with furrowed eyebrows, shaking her head slightly.

“You better sit down, we might be here awhile”

Mandy’s lip curled up as she turned to stomp out of the room. Pausing before she was completely through the doorway, she faced Mickey one last time. “Fuck you” she said through clenched teeth as she slammed his door. Mickey heard the muffled sound of her door slamming through his shut one soon after.

He reached for his box of Marlboros only to realize they were empty. “Fuck” he breathed out as he got up and made his way toward the kitchen where Svetlana was sitting at the table. She looked up and glared at him as he walked by.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

“You are lazy and you are a dick. What great husband I have.”

“I bet you know all about dicks, considering you’ve blown so many of them.”

“You watch Yevgeny tomorrow”, she said, ignoring Mickey’s remark.

“Can’t”

Mickey grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the counter and headed toward the front door, suddenly feeling like he was being suffocated. He ignored Svetlana’s protests and slipped on his jacket once he reached the door. 

He needed to get out of there so he walked across his lawn and headed toward the abandoned buildings he and Ian used to hang out at when the redhead was training for ROTC.  He allowed the last good memories of his time there with Ian to steady his breathing.

_Mickey was pissed at Gallagher for dragging his ass to rob some fucking old lady.  Although, Ian hadn’t really forced Mickey to go, Mickey was still furious. That kiss in the van couldn’t even make having an ass that resembled swiss cheese worth it._

_Ian and Mickey were sitting up on the roof, feet dangling off of the ledge that overlooked the obstacle course the two boys had set up a couple of weeks before. Mickey was reclining backward slightly, putting a majority of his weight on his hands and favoring his left side so that he would avoid making direct contact with the hard concrete and his injured right cheek._

_Ian sat to the left of him slouching forward with his hands in his lap going on about school and all the classes he needed to pass in order to get into WestPoint._

_“Why the fuck you wanna get into WestPoint so bad?”_

_“I told you, I want to be an officer.”_

_“Yeah man, but why?”_

_Ian shifted uncomfortably. “Get out of here, I guess. Make a difference or some shit.”_

_Mickey was about to make some remark about how dying in some foreign country full of towelheads wouldn’t make a difference at all, but he refrained.  Let it be known, he wasn’t a complete asshole all of the time._

_“Mickey, why’d you kiss me?” Ian asked out of nowhere before he reluctantly looked up at Mickey._

_“Because your bitch ass wouldn’t stop talking ‘bout it” Mickey blurted out as he took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it._

_He took a drag and passed it off to Ian, barely managing not to flinch when their hands brushed against each other._

_“I literally mentioned it once” Ian replied, placing the cigarette between his lips._

_Mickey leaned back a little more and ran his hand over his face while he contemplated how he should respond. They both knew it wasn’t just a casual remark. It was so much more than that. It was a loaded statement, a challenge, a dig at Mickey that he didn’t want to admit had stung pretty badly._

_He had hoped maybe Ian would drop it like he usually did whenever Mickey made it clear that he didn’t want to hear any more of his shit.  He, however, had an inkling that he was out of luck. Mickey had been having a hard time not giving in a little when it came to Ian._

_“Come on, Mick. It was goo—“_

_“I’m not some pussy or anything.” He let out an exasperated sigh before he continued, “I’m not fucking scared to kiss you.”_

_Mickey saw Ian, the smug fucker, smile and then turn to face toward their makeshift obstacle course.  Mickey still didn’t understand why the kid would actually want to get shipped out of the country only to die in some desert somewhere but he helped set up the course just the same. Watching Ian run around the thing shirtless made it more than worth it._

_Without warning Ian moved the cigarette from his right hand to his left and reached back to place an arm around the now irritated looking Mickey. He gently squeezed the older boy’s shoulder when Mickey tensed at the contact. Mickey glanced at Ian and let out a shaky breath when Ian leaned in to place his forehead against the older boy’s temple._

_They got up to walk home about fifteen minutes later when Ian received a call from Fiona saying that he needed to come home to watch Liam for a few hours.  As they descended the stairs leading toward the bottom floor Ian abruptly turned to face Mickey and placed a lingering kiss on the brunette’s lips._

Mickey finally reached the decrepit buildings as the sun was beginning to set. He sat down against one of the walls of the first floor, unwilling to step foot on the roof where he’d spent the most time with Ian. 

His eyes shifted over toward the stairs where he and Ian shared their second kiss. It was then that his mind wondered to all the things he would do if Gallagher were here with him at that very moment. 

He would have wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed the boy longer then he’d ever had the privilege of before. He would have run his hands down his arms and all over his back, pulling him in even closer then he already was.  Mickey would have made sure Ian knew how much he cared about him and when Ian got up to leave, Mickey would tell him to stay.

Mickey was nearing the end of his pack of cigarettes when he pulled out his latest burner phone.  He quickly typed out a number he had etched into memory the moment he had heard it and pressed call.

He was hoping to hear his voice prompting the caller to leave a voicemail message and was completely shocked when on the other side of the line he heard Ian’s strong yet youthful voice breathe out a “Hello?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/anxiouslysarah)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian was getting ready for another long night when he heard his phone ringing from across the room. With one leg in and one leg out of the pair of pants he was trying to pull on, Ian hopped over to his dresser before his phone stopped ringing. He didn’t recognize the number and figured it was one of his regulars. He brought the phone up to his ear, slightly out of breathe from his effort, answered with a “Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the last chapter...I started this fic back in September but have since had time to reflect on the story I'd like to tell. It will revolve around Mickey dealing with what happened in season 3 as well as Ian coping with the onset of his bipolar disorder.

Ian was getting ready for another long night when he heard his phone ringing from across the room.  With one leg in and one leg out of the pair of pants he was trying to pull on, Ian hopped over to his dresser before his phone stopped ringing. He didn’t recognize the number and figured it was one of his regulars.  He brought the phone up to his ear, slightly out of breathe from his effort, answered with a “Hello?”

He heard rustling coming from the other end followed by a series of expletives coming from a voice he had hadn’t heard in months. “Mickey?”

“How’d you get my number?” More rustling could be heard on the other end of the line. Confusion quickly turned to anger. He’d been careful to not leave any trace once he left. No ties to his life back in Canaryville. He hadn’t even given his siblings his new number. He left them a note letting them know he was enlisting and he was gone.

He was about to hang up, but Mickey beat him to it. He threw the phone down on his bed and brought his hands through his hair.

“Fuck” he sighed

Mickey was the last person he thought would ever call him. He honestly had thought it was one of the men he had been hooking up with these past couple of weeks since he’d “left” basic training and eventually got a job at The White Swallow.

It had been getting easier to forget. To not think of him whenever he went home with another man. It was hard at first but if he could get high enough, it was easier to forget all of them. Mickey, his family, everyone he had left behind. He sent a few texts to his family here and there but other than that he’d cut all ties with the Ian he was.

Being Curtis was like being born again. He stood on those platforms and people wanted him. More than anyone had ever wanted him. Sure it was a different kind of desire, but he quickly found that he liked it. Craved it, even. And when the doubt and insecurity seeped in, he did a couple of lines in the bathroom and he was flying once again.

The money he was hoping to get from tips would be way more than any paycheck he’d ever received from the corner mart he used to spend his summers. He tried not to think about that place these days and certainly not about the boy that used to share his shifts. But now he was. The memories came flooding back like a tidal wave.

He was thinking about backroom freezers and rooftop obstacle courses and the boy that made those places mean something. He thought about his sister’s expression when he practically skipped out the door to go to work. He thought about why he got the job in the first place. The squirrel fund and wanting to help pay the bills.

He thought about his brother’s snide comments and their secret conversations and his younger siblings demanding to know what they were talking about. He even thought about Frank and the hot summer nights when he’d come stumbling home while they all splashed around in the pool. He thought about all of them. That call had snapped him back to the life he left behind. 

He tried to think ahead to the “party favors” and the guys at the club he’d no doubt end his night with. He would go to work and he’d stop thinking about Mickey and the dysfunctional family he left behind.  He would.

“Fuck”

*

As soon as Mickey hung up the phone, he regretted it. He had figured that when Ian got to basic training, his phone would be confiscated, so hearing his voice on the other end was shocking enough. Hearing Ian say his name, though, and not having the guts to respond was just downright painful.   

He had been waiting months for some kind of contact with Ian, the one person who knew what had happened the night of Yevgeny’s conception. The one person who could understand the gravity of what had happened to him was on the phone, and Mickey fucking hung up on him. 

He didn’t even know what he would have said to him and besides the decision to even call him was fucking stupid anyway. Still, Mickey spent the rest of the daylight hours kicking himself over his impulsive decision to hang up on him.

When it was finally dark outside, Mickey got up and hoped everyone would be asleep by the time he arrived home. When he arrived at the worn out doors of his own personal hell. He exited the building and was immediately hit by the brisk cold of Chicago weather in the winter time. He adjusted his scarf, glanced back at the building one last time.

He decided to stop and get some smokes and maybe a bottle of vodka on his way home even though he knew his house was filled to the brim with both. Anything to put off the inevitable.   His feet moved as if functioning on muscle memory alone, toward the place he was formerly employed. 

He told himself the only reason he made his way toward the ‘Kash N Grab’ was because it was the only store open at this time of night, but it was hardly eight and he knew that wasn’t true.  It wasn’t even the closest store that sold liquor.

The bell on the door sounded as he entered the store. He was struck by how the small convenience store had changed since he stopped working there. His eyes scanned the small store and drifted to the freezer in the back and then toward the counter to his right.  He was immediately overcome with visions of red-hair peeking out from above aisles, cocky smiles, and strong hands at his hips.

_It was Mickey’s third week at the store and while he hated to admit it, as far as probation mandated jobs went, working at the towelhead’s store wasn’t half bad.  Except when it was the middle of the summer and the AC was broken._

_Since summers meant more customers, both Ian and Mickey were picking up a shift during the day.  Ian was behind the counter and Mickey leaning against it, gossip magazine spread out in front of him._

_“Goddamn it’s fucking hot today” Mickey complained to no one in particular as he attempted to air out his tank top._

_“Ian, can you close for me tonight?” Linda asked as she came walking downstairs, baby in her arms, and headed toward the exit with her two oldest in tow. “I’d do it myself if my coward of a husband had the balls to stick around and help raise his children. Did you know that he—“_

_“I’ll do it, Linda” Ian stopped her before she could continue. He offered her a sincere and understanding smile when she stopped what she was doing to look at him._

_“Right” She responded as if she had forgotten her original request. “Thanks, Ian”_

_Mickey still stood at the counter looking amused while toying with a pack of Big League Chew gum. “Put the merchandise down, Mickey!” Linda yelled as she turned her attention toward him and slapped the back of his hand._

_“If even one pack of gum goes unaccounted for, it’s coming out of your paycheck” His hand stung and quickly turned red, but at least she hadn’t threatened to fire him._

_She ushered her sons out of the store first but stuck her foot in the door before it could fully close. “And boys, could you at least try to clean up after yourselves? I’m tired of finding condom wrappers in the freezer.”_

_Confusion settled in the deep ridge of Ian’s brows and Mickey looked absolutely horrified. She wasn’t finished though, if her standing in the doorway for a moment longer as if contemplating what she was going to say next, was any indication. A thoughtful and sincere look soothed her often disgruntled features._

_“I won’t tell anyone about you two if you promise not to tell anyone my husband left me for another man. I’d be the laughing stock of the mosque.”_

_They nodded at her robotically and she quickly left. Mickey stood there frozen unsure what to do. A large part of him told him to bolt and run out of there as fast as he could. But a small, increasingly growing, part of him felt relieved. Someone knew about him and he didn’t feel like his entire world was about to shatter._

_That didn’t mean he wanted to run down the street declaring how much he liked dick, but it was nice being able to share the burden of his secret without the fear of being killed.  He knew she wouldn’t blab like he had once feared Frank Gallagher might._

_“Well that was weird” Ian said cautiously when he was finally able to pick his jaw off the floor and formulate some kind of intelligible speech._

_“Yeah” Mickey responded as he averted his gaze and focused on anything but the redhead behind the counter._

_“Wanna go in the back?” was Ian’s not so subtle attempt at bringing them back to what they knew best and breaking the discomfort that had suddenly appeared between the two of them._

_It worked though, apparently, because Mickey quickly responded with a dirty grin. “I don’t know, isn’t that your job?”_

“Are you going to buy something?” Linda asked as she came out from behind a cardboard cutout advertisement, her words filled with decidedly less animosity than she would normally use when addressing Mickey.

Right. He was there to buy something. “Yeah, some smokes”

She retrieved cigarettes from behind the counter, and handed them over to Mickey.

He went to slap some bills on the counter but was stopped before he could fully pull out his wallet. “Keep your money. I mean you’ve been helping yourself to merchandise from my store for years, Mickey.”

He began to protest, because the one thing that would trump his desire to score some free shit was his hatred for receiving pity.  He may not be above stealing, but he’ll be damned if someone tried to give him something because they felt sorry for him.

“I mean it, after what happened with Ian—“

“What the fuck you know ‘bout me and Ian?”

“Please, Mickey. I’m not stupid. I know how much he meant to you”

He knew that she knew about what went on behind the closed freezer doors. She had made sure to call them out on the fact that they hadn’t been as careful as they had thought.  But fuck her if she thought she knew a single thing about the two of them.

Even though she’d probably seen the two boys plenty of times on her cheap security cameras, she couldn’t possibly know just how deep their connection went.  He had barely allowed himself to acknowledge that. It couldn’t have been that obvious.

Her eyes bore through his own as if she was waiting for an affirmation and yet already knew the truth. Before she could say anything more, he grabbed the cigarettes and booze off the counter and hastily walked back out into the frigid air.

*

The club was already crowded by the time Ian arrived. He’d been working at the White Swallow for a few weeks now and was more than familiar with the club’s frequenters.  So it was really no surprise that he was met with a few familiar faces as he walked up to the door.

“Hey Curtis” said a man with a heavy but unidentifiable accent. When Ian looked over, he saw a man in his mid to late thirties with brown hair and tan skin staring back at him. He looked vaguely familiar but Ian couldn’t quite put a name to the face. Ian smiled at him just the same.

“You looking for someone to go home with tonight?” the man asked as his eyes raked up and down Ian’s body. 

He wasn’t particularly attractive, but Ian hardly cared. What some of the men lacked in appearance, they certainly made up for in cash and other illegal but sufficiently transactional payments. Ian may not remember names, but he surely remembered the white pills slipped to him giving lap dances.  The “party favors” were more than plentiful among the patrons he serviced.

 “Why don’t you check back with me later on tonight?”

“Oh I most certainly will, Curtis” the man replied with his thick accent and a smile.

Ian walked backwards toward the entrance, and made sure to keep the earlier phone call out of his head. He quickly ran through the checklist of all the things to look forward to in this new life of his. His tips were good, the drugs even better and honestly, he felt like he was on top of the world. And if he couldn’t convince himself of that now, he’d try again after a few drinks. Maybe a few dances too.

*

Mickey spent the next few weeks after the phone call avoiding his house even more than he had previously. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think about Ian. Or the baby. Or Svetlana. Or how Mandy could hardly look at him these days. So he drank. And he wandered. Sometimes he passed out under the El. Sometimes in a park. As long as he didn’t have to go home, he didn’t care.

He had been wandering the streets of his neighborhood aimlessly for a couple hours when he saw Lip Gallagher and his younger sister walking his way. 

“Hey” Lip said as he strode over to him.  He tried to step in front of Mickey when Mickey didn’t do more than spare them a glance, but Mickey pushed past him and continued down the sidewalk.

“We need to talk to you” Lip calls after him as he jogged to catch up.

 “The fuck do you want?” Mickey said as he squared his shoulders and turned toward Lip.  He had been on edge all night and his fists clenched in frustration the longer he was held up on the sidewalk.

“Have you heard anything from Ian?” Debbie asked, stepping in front of her brother.

“No, why the fuck would I?” Mickey didn’t even contemplate admitting to the phone call, his defenses immediately going up at the mention of Ian’s name.

“It’s important” Lip said without his usual sarcastic tone.

“Ian’s missing and we need to find him. We’ve looked everywhere and he’s not answering our texts anymore. I know you were friends—“

“We were coworkers, not friends”

“Really?“ Lip replied.

“The fuck you getting at?” Mickey spat back as he stepped forward, fists tightening beside him.

“You going to make me spell it out?” Mickey’s shoulders dropped at the look on Lip’s face. He was worried and Mickey found his anger quickly morphed into concern.

“He in trouble?”  Lip’s glance away from Mickey and down the street was more than enough of a confirmation. “What kind of trouble?”

 “We don’t know but we really need to find him! It’s not like Ian to run off like this. He stopped answering our texts a few days ago. Before he left he promised Carl to show him how to use his knife and that he’d help me with my English report. He’s not here to help Liam through his nightmares. Lip’s in college and Fiona is—“

Lip wrapped his arm around a distraught and frantic Debbie and squeezed slightly until she breathed out and collected her thoughts.  “I’m worried about him.”

“We all are” Lip added.

“You said he stopped texting you a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, we’ve been trying to get him to come home for months and until recently, he’d at least text us back so we knew he was doing ok” Lip replied.

“Well I haven’t seen him but I—uhh—I talked to him not too long ago” if hanging up as soon as he said his name counted as talking.

“You what?”

“What did he say?”

Debbie and Lip looked at Mickey expectantly.

“I called his phone the other day” Mickey said as he brought his hand up to rub his face. “He answered but the call didn’t last longer than a few seconds.”

Lip looked at him with a mixture of surprise, hurt, and perhaps maybe hope.  Mickey considered how Ian might not have given his family much explanation before he left either. “He didn’t say anything?”

“No”

“But he answered?” Debbie said, eyes full of hope and sincerity.  She kind of reminded him of Ian.

“Yeah, I used a burner phone so maybe he didn’t recognize my number or something”

“Why didn’t we think of using a different phone?” Debbie mumbled.

“Because no one expected Ian to purposefully avoid our texts, Debs.”

Debbie looked down and Mickey could see tears forming in her eyes.

“At least we know he’s ok though, right?” Debbie asked as she looked up.

“Yeah” Lip tried to smile but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I’ll let you know if I hear from him again” Mickey offered.

“Ok, yeah” Lip nodded and brought Debbie in close before they both turned and walked down the street.

Mickey could see Lip pull out his phone and bring it to his ear. Right before they turned the corner, he watched as Lip hung up the phone and threw it as hard as he could against the brick wall beside him.

*

Ian was tending the bar when he heard his phone ring in his pockets. He’d stopped answering his phone since he got the call from Mickey, not wanting to risk hearing his voice again. He had to do a better job of keeping his past behind him.

It eventually stopped ringing and Ian finished making a customer’s drink before moving onto the next one.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a post season 3, alternate season 4/5 multi-chap fic. Anything up to season 3 will remain the same but there will be some gap fillers from seasons 1-3 that will be included. Let me know if you have any questions.  
> 


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